


Aerophobia

by wendiwrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:46:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendiwrites/pseuds/wendiwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel rather enjoys flying. The same, however, does not seem to hold true for the man seated next to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aerophobia

‘A water evacuation is also unlikely, but just in case, life vests are located under your seats in the economy cabin. If you’re seated in the first or business class cabin…’ The airline safety video continues to play on his screen and overhead while Castiel continues to stare absently out of the Plexiglas window at the runway lights, and then, beyond that, the water of Flushing Bay, glinting dimly in the sunset.

Castiel likes his job. Director Adler is an ass the likes of which the world rarely ever sees, the hours are complete shit, and the drive from his apartment to the building is a circle of hell in and of itself, but the trips make up for it. He loves traveling, had practically grown up in airports and airplanes, and the opportunity to go to a different city every couple of weeks, even if it was just for a few days, is the only reason he’s stayed with the company for so long. 

This particular trip is for a two day conference in Santa Monica, and Castiel could not be more grateful for a reprieve from the bouts of snow and sleet that New York has been experiencing for the past two weeks. Even now, the sky above is blanketed by ominous-looking gray clouds, threatening another storm.

The sound of crackling paper draws his attention away from the view outside for the first time since he’d sat down. The seat next to him, which had been empty before, is now occupied by - well, objectively speaking, the most aesthetically pleasing man Castiel has laid eyes on in a long, long time.

Or he would be, if he didn’t look as though he could pass out at any moment. His eyes are shut so tightly that Castiel can see a vein pulsing in his temple, and his face looks a bit pasty, the dark crescent of his eyelashes contrasting starkly with his pale skin. As Castiel watches, a bead of sweat runs down the side of his face and trickles into the collar of the fitted white dress shirt he’s wearing. One hand is clenched around an unopened airsickness bag, which crinkles slightly as he crumples it between his fingers; the other is gripping the armrest so tightly that Castiel can see the muscles and tendons bunched in his upper arm.

He really doesn’t look well, breathing quickly and shallowly through his nose, and Castiel considers pressing the call button for a stewardess, but then decides against it. Minutes pass; the pilot comes on the PA and announces the itinerary, last minute flight information, and that they would take off shortly, and the guy still doesn’t move a muscle, apart from his hand flexing periodically.

‘Are - are you all right?’ he asks tentatively. For a moment, the man doesn’t react, and Castiel is about to reconsider calling an attendant when he nods tightly, once. His eyes don’t open, and the tight line of his mouth doesn’t relax. Another drop of sweat drips down his neck, which is already shining with perspiration. And, okay, Castiel shouldn’t find that as hot as he does, and even as he instinctively loosens his own tie, he berates himself for finding the man’s obvious discomfort attractive.  _Now’s not really the time, Novak._

‘Is there anything I can do?’ he inquires quietly after a minute. After a visible struggle, the corners of the man’s mouth turn up ever so slightly.

‘No,’ he grits out, strained smile still in place as he turns his head to face Castiel. ‘Just an anxious flyer, you know?’

Castiel has, of course, heard of the condition. He’s never known anyone who suffered from aerophobia, can’t quite imagine the fear himself, but he can certainly sympathize. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. A beat. ‘You, um. You do realize we’re not actually moving at the moment, though?’

The forced smile falls away to be replaced with a genuine one as the man chuckles tiredly. It’s infectious, and Castiel follows along despite himself.

‘Yeah, I got that, it’s just - the idea of a two hundred ton steel death trap thirty thousand feet in the sky, you know? And there’s only so much oxygen in this thing, and I-’ He has to cut himself off, sucking in a ragged gasp of air. ‘I would have driven to my brother’s goddamn wedding, except that he fucking chose to settle down clear across the country, so that leaves me here, feeling like I’m about to blow chunks down the aisle and venting to a complete stranger. Sorry about that, by the way.’

Castiel grimaces briefly at the image and decides to take it upon himself to prevent the aforementioned blowing of chunks as the plane begins to move, steering its way down the taxi lane.

‘I don’t mind, honestly. It’s been a while since I’ve spoken with anyone on a pl - a trip. Your brother’s getting married?’ he asks, partially to distract the man and partially because he finds that he’s genuinely interested.

‘Damn straight. Jess is gorgeous and smart and about a thousand miles out of his league, but Sammy always did have a way with the ladies. I always thought it was the sensitive puppy-dog eyes, which makes no sense considering that he’s built like a fucking  _moose_ …’

There is a distinct note of pride in his voice, and Castiel can’t help but smile as he listens to his companion go on about how the last time he and his brother had seen each other, Sam had grown so much that he had failed to recognize him at the airport and had been extremely perplexed and not a bit afraid when a gargantuan man had suddenly tackled him from behind in a crushing embrace at the baggage claim.

The airplane has been steadily accelerating for the past minute or so while his conversation partner has been speaking, and he hasn’t noticed so far, but the engine noise soon increases to a whining roar as the front wheels lift off the ground, and he suddenly stops mid-sentence. His eyes, which haven’t opened once since Castiel saw him, squeeze shut even more tightly. His head tips backwards on his headrest and he swallows convulsively, his grip tightening on the armrest. 

‘If it helps,’ Castiel says, rummaging for words to take his mind off of the takeoff (ha), ‘I have five siblings, all older than I am, and for my twenty-fifth birthday, they all made a surprise visit to my home while I was at work, decorated my apartment, hid themselves, and waited for me to come home.’

‘Oh god,’ his traveling partner says, looking amused. ‘This is not going to end well, is it?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ he agrees, laughing softly, and a bit of the tension seems to ease from his companion. Encouraged, Castiel continues his anecdote.

‘I saw the decorations right off, naturally; there were streamers and balloons everywhere - also a rather obscene banner hanging from the lamp which no one would claim later – but I just assumed that they had come over, decorated the place, and then let themselves out. I normally take a shower first thing when I arrive home, and I did so on that day, deciding that I’d deal with the decorations later and entirely unaware of my brothers and sister’s presence. My youngest brother, Gabriel, has always been something of a practical joker, and thought it would be funny to surprise me while I was in the shower. He did not, however, account for either the slipperiness of my bathtub or my stunning propensity for becoming entangled in my shower curtain.’

‘Jesus,’ chortles his companion, relaxing further into his seat. Castiel grins despite the fact that his eyes are still closed, so he can’t see him.

‘And alas, the story ends with the five of them at my bedside in the ICU as I recovered from a reasonably severe concussion, two broken ribs, and internal hemorrhaging. They did, however, swear upon our parents’ grave never to drop in unannounced ever again, so I suppose it counts as a win in my book. Plus, their presents that year were unprecedentedly excellent.’

His acquaintance laughs quietly, a sound that reverberates pleasantly in the air between them before settling comfortably. 

‘Sorry about your parents,’ he says softly, and then, before Castiel can respond, ‘I know how hard that is.’

‘You too?’

‘Yeah. Fire when I was five, and then a car accident when I was eighteen. By then I was old enough to take care of Sam, thank god, because there was no way I was letting the foster system lay their cold, prickly hands on him.’ He pauses suddenly. ‘Unless you were-‘

Castiel exhales. ‘No, I was already in university when my parents passed away, but they weren’t around much during my childhood at any rate. My sister and I were practically raised by my two eldest brothers, which you might say, ah, toughened me up a bit.’

‘I get that. We were on the road a lot after Mom died, and Dad wasn’t always there when we woke up or when we went to bed, which meant a lot of Spaghetti-O’s and Lucky Charms. Sammy was just a little kid at that point, but, you know, I did my damnedest.’ He stops, sighing. ‘Why am I telling you this? You don’t even know me - hell, I don’t even know what you look like because I’m pretty sure that if I open my eyes, I’ll puke or die or both.’

Castiel hums, a vague, relaxed sound. He can’t help tracing over the man’s face with his eyes, carefully cataloging the sculpted cheekbones, the laugh lines in the corners of his eyes, the beautiful (no, not  _beautiful_ , Castiel barely even knows this man) smattering of freckles. ‘Like I said, I really don’t mind.’

An amiable silence settles between the two of them, heavy with their respective thoughts.

‘Dean,’ the man says finally.

‘Hm?’

‘My name’s Dean. I just thought it was weird, telling you my story when you don’t even know my name.’

‘Oh. Castiel.’

‘Pardon?’

He smiles fondly. ‘ _Castiel._  That’s my name.’

‘Jesus. Castiel, Gabriel… is your whole family named after angels or something?’

‘… actually, yes.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Michael, Luke, Raphael, Gabriel, Anna, and Castiel.’

‘I’m not religious, but I’m pretty sure Luke was a prophet.’

‘It’s short for Lucifer.’

‘You’re kidding.’ 

‘I would never.’

‘ _Damn_.’ Dean grins, but it fades away after a moment, leaving a sincere expression in its wake. ‘Hey, Cas?’

The nickname catches Castiel off guard, but after a second, he decides that he much prefers it to ‘Cassie,’ which Gabriel calls him on occasion.

‘Yes, Dean?’ He catches himself savoring the way Dean’s name rolls off of his tongue and sighs inwardly.

‘Thanks for doing this.’ Dean’s tongue darts out to wet his slightly chapped bottom lip, and Castiel is struck suddenly with the urge to reach out and touch his mouth.

He actually pinches himself. Hard.

‘It’s my pleasure,’ he replies, not quite managing to keep the tremor out of his voice. If Dean notices, he doesn’t say anything.

-

Three hours later, Castiel is awakened from his nap by two things, almost simultaneously. The first is the plane jolting, hard, once and then again. The whole cabin bounces with the movement - Castiel hears luggage clunking around in the overhead bins, and somewhere in economy class, a baby begins to cry.

The second is the sound of Dean’s hitched breathing as he gasps for air, bent almost double in his seat, forehead resting on his hands, which are on his knees. He’s trying to keep it under control, regulate his breaths, but the strong line of his shoulders is shaking visibly.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have entered an area of turbulence, and we ask that all passengers remain seated with your seat belts on and that any crew return to their stations. Thank you.’

 _You don’t say,_  he thinks as the cabin lurches again, even harder than before. Dean’s knuckles whiten.

‘It’s okay,’ he murmurs quietly, leaning down so that Dean can hear him. He receives a terse shake of the head in return.

‘I can’t do this, Cas. I can’t - I need to get out of here. I - oh god.’ His breathing speeds up even further, to the point where Castiel is concerned about hyperventilation. He considers briefly, then reaches out a hand, places it on Dean’s shoulder, and squeezes reassuringly.

‘Dean, stay with me, all right? I’m right here.’ His thumb is smoothing small circles into the linen of Dean’s shirt. ‘Trust me.’

A few agonizing seconds, and then, with what seems like a herculean effort, Dean pushes himself upright, tilting his head back onto the headrest again as his breathing slows incrementally. His eyes are still closed and there is a light sheen of sweat covering all the skin Castiel can see, but the blood has rushed to his head, so there are spots of color high on his cheekbones.

His breathing has just only stabilized slightly when the plane gives another hard bounce. Dean's hands, which had been resting on his lap, jolt upwards on a reflex, trying to find something to hang on to, and Castiel instinctively grabs Dean's left hand and holds it between his own.

Oh god. He's in it deep.

Dean, for his part, tenses momentarily and then relaxes. His fingers curl gently into Cas's, even as the turbulence continues.

'Say something,' he says quietly to Castiel after a minute. Castiel's mouth opens and closes - should he apologize? Explain? Confess his inexplicable attraction to this man? No, definitely not that last one. 'Distract me.'

Oh.

He finds himself, yet again, fumbling for words. He's usually quite eloquent, but something about this situation, about Dean, has fixed it so that the only sentences in his mind have to do with Latin etymology or the origin of the Antikythera mechanism, neither of which are exactly optimum distraction material.

'My family owned a beach house. We used to go there all of the time when I was young,' he finds himself saying instead. He's not sure where this story came from, not sure where it's going to lead, but even as the memories of ocean spray and sheets that smell of salt come flooding back, the words seem to form themselves on his tongue.

'It was nothing particularly grand, just barely large enough to fit the eight of us, but the ocean was only about twenty paces away. My mother used to get quite cross at us when we left the doors to the back porch open and sand would blow into the living room.

'The first time we went there, I was two years old - my sister Anna and I were both too young to swim in the sea, so we spent most of the time on the beach, making sand castles with our parents. One of my favorite things about that particular stretch of ocean was that we could always find the most beautiful seashells to stick into the sand castles and to collect. My father used to dive into the sea to look for shells under the water, and Anna had this little blue bucket that she always brought with her so that she could carry all of them back home with us.’

For whatever reason, now that he’s pouring memories out in front of him, he can’t quite bring himself to look at Dean’s face, and instead he looks down at his hands. His thumb is massaging idle circles into Dean’s palm; he can feel the muscles and bones shift under his fingers. Almost unconsciously, he brushes his fingers across the back of Dean’s hand, tracing over the veins there.

'Every summer, without fail, Gabriel would end up executing some terrible prank on Raphael, my third oldest brother. I love Raphael, but he has always been a bit... gung ho, shall we say, and for whatever reason, Gabriel always took it upon himself to 'knock him down a few pegs.' His words, not mine. It began when I was three, with Gabriel kicking sand into Raphael's face, but quickly escalated to sand in places where sand generally ought not to be, and then to various marine animals, both dead and alive, in various furniture fixtures and personal belongings. It came to a head during the Hermit Crab Incident of 2001, which I have been sworn never to mention on pain of death, so you understand if I can't elaborate.’

Dean says nothing but the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. Cas’s thumb is now pressing small circles into each of his fingertips.

'My eldest brother, Michael, is almost fourteen years my senior, and so I was never able to see much of him, but, as small children are bound to do, I absolutely idolized him. One summer – I was maybe eight years old – we’d heard reports of a tide of jellyfish possibly coming in towards the shore, but no one really paid it any mind. That is, until Michael was stung by two. Simultaneously.”

Dean winces and sucks in a breath between his teeth, but he’s smiling all the same. Castiel chuckles.

‘I’d never heard him swear in my entire life, and there he was, flailing around in the water, saying words I’d only ever heard in the movies that Gabriel sometimes snuck into the house. I even picked up some new ones. Gabriel, of course, offered to urinate on him; Luke almost passed out from laughing so hard.’

He grins fondly, remembering the half-affronted, half-stunned look on Raphael’s face and the way his father had tried to hide his amusement at the entire tableau when he came over to see what the commotion was about. Dean is full-on laughing now, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he tosses his head back.

 ‘My parents left it to me after they passed away – the house, I mean. They knew how much I loved it there, I suppose.’ Castiel hesitates before continuing. ‘We decided to renovate the place shortly after that and Michael helped me hire someone to look after it, but I haven’t been back to see it since.’

Dean’s smile fades, giving way to a slightly confused frown, but says nothing.

‘It’s – I don’t know how to explain it, exactly. It’s just that I have so many good memories of my mother and father, of my family there, and going back alone…’

‘It feels like you’re writing over them,’ Dean finishes for him.

‘Yes, _exactly._ And I don’t know what to do about it, because it feels like there’s this _hole_ in me, and if I go back, I’m just – I’m afraid I won’t be able to ignore it any longer,’ he expels in a rush. If Dean notices how his voice breaks near the end, he doesn’t give any indication.

The gravity of what he’s just said sinks in, and Castiel stares at Dean’s still-closed eyes, suddenly thankful that he can’t see him because he knows he must look ridiculous; even now, he can feel the color rising high up on his cheeks.

‘I’m sorry,’ he apologizes, running his free hand – the one that’s not still inscribing slow circles into Dean’s palm – through his hair. ‘I really didn’t mean to unload all of this onto you.’

Dean’s hand suddenly flips and grasps his, squeezing his fingers with gentle pressure, pressing what feels like all of the air out of his lungs with it.

‘It’s really all right, Cas,’ he murmurs, leaning his head towards Castiel. ‘I’ve been there. I get it.’ He clears his throat slightly. ‘My dad, when he died, left me his car. 1967 Chevy Impala, 327 four-barrel, 275 horses – gorgeous. And it was – I’d practically grown up in that car, you know? We brought Sammy home from the hospital in that car; my mom and dad used to take us to baseball games in that car; I went on my first date in that car. And after he was gone, I couldn’t look at it for the longest time. It just sat under a tarp in the garage for months.’

‘So what changed?’ Castiel asks quietly.

Dean cracks a smile. ‘Sammy, the idiot, fell down the stairs and cracked his head open real nice. Blood everywhere, probably a nasty concussion, the whole nine yards. The hospital was ten miles away and there was no way I was just going to let him sit there and bleed, so I put him in the Impala and off we went. Sped thirty over the limit all the way to Lawrence Memorial, got his head looked at and patched up – the kid was a real trooper, so I took him out for ice cream after. And it was the damnedest thing, you know? After that, it wasn’t so bad for me, didn’t hurt as much. I don’t know why, but there you are.’

‘No, I think I understand now,’ Castiel says slowly, contemplatively. ‘Maybe… maybe it’s not so much about erasing all of the old memories as it is about making new ones. Maybe I just need to prove to myself that that place can still hold happiness for me.’

‘Sounds about right, Cas,’ Dean responds softly, squeezing his fingers gently.

Castiel exhales deeply, hoping that Dean doesn’t hear how the air stutters through his lips. It’s too much, all of it – Dean’s kindness, his beauty, his empathy, even the warmth of his hand that seems to diffuse up Castiel’s arm and into his chest.

Suddenly overwhelmed, he pulls his hand out of Dean’s grip, looks away from honey colored eyelashes that graze the thin, delicate skin underneath, turns and directs his attention outside the window. Despite the previous bout of turbulence, it’s lovely outside – thick, fluffy white clouds dot the sky under the plane’s wings and below, a green countryside sprawls out in all directions.

‘My boss allotted me four days for a two day conference, and there’s a long weekend afterwards,’ he reasons hesitantly, all too aware that he seems to be making everything up as he goes. ‘The house is only about an hour’s drive from the hotel where the conference is being held. Even accounting for the traffic on the way back, I could spend at least four or five days before I need to return.’

‘You’re a spontaneous one, aren’t you?’ Dean jokes.

‘It would appear so, yes,’ Castiel replies lightly. ‘More so around you than anyone else, I think.’

‘Really?’ Dean chuckles. ‘Must be my dashing good looks and charming personality.’

‘I was thinking more along the lines of your astounding modesty and courage in the face of turbulence.’

‘Damn, Cas. Low blow.’ Dean is laughing again, and it’s somehow contagious as hell, and Castiel finds himself trying to contain his own laughter so as to avoid disturbing the other passengers.

They settle into comfortable silence once again, but this time only for a moment.

‘You should come with me. To the beach, I mean.’

‘What?’

_What?_

‘That is, provided you have the time after Sam’s wedding, and you shouldn’t feel obligated, of course, I would completely understand if you would rather spend time with your brother after the ceremony because from what you’ve told me, you probably haven’t seen him in quite a long time, so I suppose this is extremely ill-timed for you, and - ’ _For the love of god, stop talking._

‘Cas. Hey,” Dean interrupts gently, and bites his lip (which should in no way be as attractive as it is) before continuing. ‘Listen, that sounds like a goddamn fantastic offer, but you don’t have to do this just because I happened to sit next to you on a plane.’

‘But I - ’

‘Hear me out, okay? You’re definitely something, and considering that I was just gearing up to ask you out for a drink after we land, it’s probably safe to say that we’re in this thing together.’

Castiel can’t help but smile at that, and even though Dean can’t see him, he grins in response, although his expression sobers quickly.

‘But that house obviously means a lot to you, and you’ve got all those memories of your family there. Are you sure you want me there with you when we’ve known each other for all of five hours?’

He’s silent for a moment, thinking over it.

‘I used to believe that, I think,’ he says finally. ‘That maybe by not allowing myself to even go near the place, I could keep all of the memories trapped in for me to peruse whenever I wanted. But now - perhaps the longer I keep myself away, the faster it fades from me. Maybe what I need most right now is someone to share those memories with.’ Castiel pauses for a bit before continuing. ‘I like you. More than that, I trust you. It might be insane, but there you are.’

They’re both quiet. Castiel watches Dean’s face as he contemplates.

‘Yeah, okay,’ he murmurs finally.

Then he opens his eyes.

And if there had been any words on Castiel’s tongue, they may as well never have existed, because he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the other man’s, can’t stop staring at the green-hazel irises and the lush pupils that contract in the light from the window.

‘Hello,’ he breathes after what has to be at least a full minute. _Smooth. Very nice. Four stars._

To Dean’s eternal credit, he doesn’t even break eye contact. ‘Hey, Cas,’ he responds without missing a beat.

Castiel opens his mouth to speak but it comes out hoarse, so he tries again. ‘So you’ll come with me?’

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ Dean answers, smiling crookedly again. ‘I might have to ask Sammy if he’s got anything planned after the vows are said and done, but I think we’re good.’

‘Good,’ he says, for lack of any further vocabulary at his immediate disposal.

Dean grins widely. ‘I think I’m gonna kiss you now.’

Castiel suddenly becomes aware of the fact that his mouth is slightly open and closes it immediately. ‘I – that is to say – yes. I would like that.’

Dean’s chuckling and shaking his head as he leans in (he doesn’t have far to go, considering the fact that he and Castiel have been subconsciously inching towards each other for the past ten minutes), and it feels like his laughter is reverberating through Cas’s chest as their lips move against each other.

Cas groans softly as one of Dean’s hands comes up to cup his face as the other slides around to splay against the small of his back. It’s cramped, and they’re both twisted around in their seats, but Dean smells like cologne and salt, and his mouth is warm as it teases gentle nips at Castiel’s lower lip.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent into Los Angeles International Airport. We ask that all passengers return to their seats and fasten their seat belts until we land. Please make sure that your seat backs and tray tables are in their upright and locked position. Thank you.’

Dean sighs deeply as they both draw back. ‘Fuck. Interrupted by an airplane, of all things.’

 ‘Don’t worry. There’ll be plenty of time for that in, say, three days?’

‘That better be a promise,’ Dean jokes, fumbles in his pocket for a second before pulling out a slightly crumpled business card and a pen, and writes his name and a telephone number on the back before handing it to Castiel.

‘I’m counting on it,’ Cas assures him as he takes the card. ‘Tell your brother and his wife congratulations from me.’

‘I will, thanks,’ Dean says, practically beaming. ‘Oh, and Cas?’

‘Yes?’

‘Stow your damn tray table.’

It takes exactly one glance at the look on the other’s face and they’re both off again, trying to stifle their peals of laughter as they descend slowly toward the California skyline.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried. Comments are appreciated.


End file.
